Of Hell and Heaven
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: my attempt at resolving the season finale . Emily finds Hotch. Foyet is watching...and wondering just what the relationship between Hotchner and the brunette is...HP romance/suspense
1. Chapter 1

_**To Hell first…and On to Heaven**_

**It seems to be a tradition for us fanfic writers to attempt to explain the happenings of the seasons' finales throughout the summer. Last year, ironically, I blew up Hotch in my 'Prentiss's Find' story—and a few others—and blew up Dave in my 'Lion and Antelope' collection. This year, **_**this **_**is my attempt to explain just exactly what happened in Hotch's apartment that night. **_**Hopefully, **_** I will finish this one by the time next season starts! (As well as finishing Words Not Heard, and some of my others that I've not had a chance to work on lately!)**

Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in **Hell**'s despair."

WILLIAM BLAKE

It wasn't her phone.

But she knew whose it was. It was definitely Hotch's, his was the only one similar enough to be mistaken for hers. She must have picked it up when _both _cells had been resting on the table. Her mind hadn't exactly been on the little details of her routine, but instead was focused on those dog-tags Morgan had given back to the brother.

Sometimes being the one left behind sucked. She'd been left behind, had lost Matthew, and as messed up as she knew he had been, it still hurt her. So bad.

Matthew had had such big dreams when they were fifteen. He'd wanted law school, wanted to fight fights with his words, to save some part of the world.

Matthew had never saved part of the world, but he had saved her. She tried to remember that whenever she thought of him.

She tucked her hands in her pockets, left hand toying with Hotch's cell, right hand fisting in the material of her leather coat and bumping against the weapon she'd yet to take off. She rarely ever walked anywhere that late at night without it. The spring rain echoed her mood as she walked the eleven blocks that separated her condo from the small apartment Hotch had rented after his divorce.

She'd been by there once before, when his car hadn't started and he'd called her for a ride. She'd lived the closest to him, and they'd been called in for a case. But Hotch needed his phone, many times he was called directly, especially when the case was a special request. She wondered if he realized yet that he had hers. Still the error would only take her a little while to correct.

And Emily just wasn't ready to go home yet.

As she walked, she profiled Hotch, trying to determine just exactly how he'd react to having _her _show up at his apartment uninvited. First, she imagined what he'd do when he got home. Take off his gun, unbutton his suit coat. But he'd not take the coat off; no, that would wait. Emily had suspected for a while that Hotch's suit coat was permanently glued to his wide shoulders. He probably only took it off when going to bed.

She'd never asked, and never would. They didn't have that kind of a relationship. They were close, she supposed, in that they spent a lot of time together. But not close like she and Derek. Or Dave. Dave was fast slipping into the role of her closest friend, someone she could share things with. She genuinely liked Dave.

Sometimes, she didn't quite know if she liked Hotch or not. She certainly respected him, admired what he'd accomplished. Trusted him implicitly when it came to the job. But she would be the first to admit she didn't really know much about the supervisor. With Derek, Reid, and even Dave she could talk about interests, hobbies, general randomness. Not so with Hotch. Hotch was more complex, more driven, more…if she wanted to be honest…more obsessive about the job than anyone she'd ever met. Whenever around him, she _automatically _went into a professional mode.

Not like she could discuss her secret longing to go to Comic-con in July with Hotch. And she didn't dare mention it to Reid. _He'd _insist they go, regardless of how much they had to pay. And it would be all the kid would talk about for weeks. JJ and Derek would kill her for even mentioning it, and it wouldn't exactly do much to alleviate Emily's growing reputation as a nerd. Still, maybe she should go ahead and purchase two tickets—one for her _and _Reid.

It would thrill him, and she could give him the news over the Fourth of July holiday. That would give him time to enjoy anticipating it, and still keep the rest of the team from killing her.

That's what she would do. She'd once worked a case with a man who rented a booth at the convention every year. The police officer had been one hell of a graphic novelist in his spare time. Emily had saved his partner's life and he'd always promised he'd get her a membership to the convention at a good rate. She'd have to call him.

A brief thought of Hotch walking around Comic-con had her lips twisting. She wondered how many people would approach him and ask to see the large "Superman" emblem under his navy suit. All he'd need was the dark-rimmed Clark Kent glasses and he'd be a dead ringer for the superhero.

She was finally at the entrance to Hotch's building. It was just a short trip up to the fifth floor. She took the stairs, wanting to feel the warm burn that physical activity could bring. Anything to keep the sight of those rows and rows of shoes out of her mind's eye.

A man about her height was in the stairs, dressed in a dark, hooded sweatshirt and dark jeans. Something about him was familiar, but Emily couldn't quite put her finger on it. He brushed against her as they passed just before the landing to Hotch's floor.

"Sorry, lady."

"No problem." She said, still trying to place him. Her hand came out of her pocket, resting on the butt of her gun. It was an instinctive gesture, one that she _knew _echoed her unease with the man and the brief contact. Still, she couldn't quite place him. And she hadn't got a good look at his face.

She'd seen him before. She knew she had. She made a note to remember him, to look at recent unsolved cases to see if thatwas how she knew him.

Or she'd ask Hotch if there was someone in his building she might have seen around the office or something.

The fifth floor was strangely quiet, and she got the impression once again that only a handful of the apartments on Hotch's floor were rented out. He'd mentioned briefly that he'd gotten the place at a steal because the building had been closed for renovations for the last two years, and tenants were just recently beginning to move back in.

Emily hated half-empty buildings. They just creeped her out. And after the guy in the stairwell, the hair on the back of her neck was standing on end. Something just wasn't right. She'd been an agent long enough to know how to trust _those _instincts.

A man was standing outside Hotch's apartment. He was about Emily's age, clean cut, strong. Good-looking. Built along the same lines as Hotch. He had silver streaks in his dark hair. He was knocking hard on Hotch's door. "Hotchner!"

"What's wrong?" Emily asked, pulling her badge from her waist and flipping it for the man to see.

"Heard gunshots." The man pulled out a gold shield, one Emily recognized as a DC police detective's shield. "Hotchner's apartment is the only one this end of the building."

Tension rolled from the man, and Emily immediately took over knocking from him, knocking and calling. "Hotch! Sir! It's Prentiss, you need to open the door! Now! Or we're coming in!"


	2. Chapter 2

What we call life is a journey to death.

What we call death is the gateway to life.

—_**Anonymous**_

**Chapter Two: Burning**

Everything burned. Hotch hadn't known dying burned so badly. Surely he hadn't really done anything to deserve this heat. Or this darkness.

Of course, _his _eyes were closed. He didn't think he had the strength to open them. He didn't even have the strength to call out for help. And he didn't think he could, anyway. The second bullet had punctured his lung, he was aware enough to _know _that. Two bullets, one to the chest, one to the thigh. Before he could even react, Foyet had him. And he'd already removed his own weapon. Stood there defenseless in his own apartment.

Maybe he did deserve this fire, for being so damned careless. Hadn't Elle been attacked in her own home? Hadn't Jason had an UNSUB in _his _own house? Hadn't Penelope been shot in her own courtyard? Stupid. He'd been stupid. Maybe they'd put that on his headstone. "Here lies stupid."

Someone was knocking on his skull again. Then there were words. A voice.

A voice he knew. _Not Foyet. _Hotch felt hope. _Prentiss. _Emily Maureen Prentiss, age…how old was Prentiss? Hotch wondered idly, caught half between unconsciousness and burning. She was younger than him, he knew that. But not by much.

Funny, that he'd be dying and thinking of Agent Emily Prentiss in his last moments. Weird, that. Considering he'd never really thought of Agent Emily Prentiss when at home before. Not really. Nothing specific. So why when he was dying, did he imagine he heard her voice calling his name? Saying she was coming through his door?

Weird.

He shifted slightly, pain causing his body to writhe, to spasm. An involuntary cry escaped. No, he wasn't going to cry and whimper. Hotch was going to die with dignity.

HPHPHPHPPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The cry was all it took. Emily shoved the detective unceremoniously out of her way, and with one practiced kick, knocked Hotch's door open. Then it was her releasing an involuntary cry. "Hotch!"

At first she thought he was dead, eyes staring lifelessly in her direction. And then he blinked. And then he…laughed. The sound light and almost missed. She was on her knees beside him, immediately. She vaguely heard the detective calling for a bus to Hotch's address. She sent a silent prayer to a God she rarely spoke to that the ambulance would arrive in time. "Hotch, where? Who?"

"Em..ly? Pren..ss? You're real?"

"Hotch. Where were you hit?" She pulled the suit coat back, trying to trace the source of the blood. She grabbed a pillow from the nearby couch, using it to press against the wound. Blood soon obliterated the cartoon character printed on it.

It must have been his son's. She'd never met the little boy, but she knew she'd never forget watching blood erase the face of Mickey Mouse, as his daddy bled and bled. "Oh, god, Hotch. Who did this?"

"Foyet…is he…here?" Hotch was partially with her, she realized that quickly. She almost wished he would pass out, he had to be in pain. He had to.

Emily had been shot once, in St. Louis. She knew what it felt like. Oh, God, _Hotch_.

"No. He's gone. I think I passed him in the hallway." She kept her words soothing, tried to suppress a shudder as she recalled just exactly what Foyet was capable of.

"He didn't…hurt…you?"

"No, sir. He didn't. He hurt you." Emily tried to keep the pressure on his chest steady while the detective—she didn't even know his name—worked on the hole in Hotch's leg. "I didn't realize it was him, I'm sorry."

"Not sorry. Shouldn't be. You never met him, never saw him. Which was good. He'd have hurt you…or JJ. Just to watch Morgan…and me….hurt." Hotch was more lucid than Emily could believe. And every inch the profiler. "Need to call Morgan. He knows where he lives."

"Yes. I need to make sure you're ok, first." Emily kept one hand on the pillow, the other pulled _Hotch's _cell from her pocket.

Thank God she'd grabbed his phone. If she hadn't, would he have bled to death? Would his body have been found when he didn't show up for work Monday morning? Or worse, would his ex and his son have found him this weekend? God, that poor little boy.

She spent less than a minute on the phone with Derek, confirming that he was ok, and that he'd remain on alert. And that he'd gather the rest of the team. It went unsaid that they were going hunting. Foyet would not get away with this.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

_Killing someone always made him…burn. Burn for sex. It was the only time he actually wanted it, the only time he actually enjoyed it. Knowing he'd just taken a life, and by his actions he could, if he so chose, _create _a life. Foyet found that to be one hell of a turn on._

_The bitch in the stairs had smelled nice, had looked nice, as well. He'd seen her before, but he couldn't remember where. He'd like to see her again, with a lot less clothes, and one less gun. He hadn't missed the weapon resting on her hip. _

_Hey may have seen her around while he'd been following Hotchner, learning his routine, his address. Had the bitch been a part of the group that Hotchner had worked with?_

_Was she a member of his hallowed team, maybe?_

_That would be interesting. He'd never stalked anyone before, other than Hotchner but…if she were a part of the team, what would it do to Supervisory Special Agent Morgan to know he'd not only killed Hotchner, but had the bitch as well?_

_Foyet loved a challenge._

_He heard the sirens, wondered who they'd been called for. Had a neighbor heard the shots and called for help? Had _she _found Hotchner? Was she there to…visit…him? Was she _screwing _Hotchner?_

_He'd not seen any indication that Hotchner had a girl. In the weeks that he'd watched him Hotchner had worked…or visited his kid. _

_Foyet didn't mess with kids, otherwise he'd have gone that route with Hotchner. But kids…they weren't a challenge. Hotchner's ex wasn't must of a challenge, either. He'd watched her for a few days, too. But she was missing something that his other victims had all had. They'd all had a spark that Hotchner's ex just couldn't claim. _

_But that brunette, he'd seen the spark in her eyes. That's why he'd wanted to screw her. He'd considered it, considered pushing their meeting in the stairs. Considered flirting, hitting on her. Convincing her to go for a drink with him. _

_She'd have been a challenge. He knew that. It was only when she'd touched her gun, drew his attention to the fact that _she _wouldn't be an easy lay that made him stop and reconsider. _

_The EMTs were inside, and he casually leaned against the building across the street. Just to watch. He knew he blended in to the crowd that was forming slowly. Ambulances always drew the morbid. He knew that intimately. _

_Less than five minutes passed before the EMTs returned, pushing a stretcher with none other than Hotchner himself strapped to it. _

She _walked at his side, clinging to his hand. _

_Foyet's decision was made._

_He'd have her._

_And then he'd kill her. _

_And then he'd return for Hotchner._

_Everything else he'd planned could wait._


	3. Chapter 3

Emily watched them wheel Hotch down the corridor toward the emergency surgery area, her heart beating faster than it ever had in her life. This was so much worse than when Garcia was shot, though the fear was the same.

Garcia's blood hadn't stained Emily's hands. They hadn't been that close back then. Now, though, it was like someone had shot her as well.

The team was her family, save for her mother. Emily hadn't seen her father in ten years, and she saw her mother rarely. No, she spent eighty plus hours each week with the team, and the head of that team, her family, was lying vulnerable on a hospital bed, waiting for some strange doctor to pull shards of metal from his body.

Superman wasn't invulnerable after all.

Dave and Derek, and the rest of the team arrived on the heels of the locals who'd pulled the case. Emily recognized Hotch's neighbor, but she still didn't know his name. She knew the locals would have questions for both of them. Questions she wasn't sure she could answer.

Dave reached her first. His hands rose to wrap around her elbows and he led her to the nearest bench. It was then she realized she was still shaking. "Emily, tell us everything you know."

"They just took him back into surgery. They think the bullet to his chest has punctured his lung, and the one in his thigh may have nicked an artery. They'll let us know." Emily knew what the team would want first. "He was in and out of consciousness when I found him, and throughout the ambulance ride."

"How did you find him?" Derek asked. Emily knew why, Derek was well aware of the fact that she was the least closest to Hotch of all the men on the team. "Why were you there?"

"We'd switched cells." She said, dully. She pulled Hotch's cell from her pocket, where she'd shoved it earlier. "Must have happened on the plane. I thought he'd need his phone, so I decided to drop it off on my walk home."

"Thank God." JJ said. "Thank God. If you hadn't."

"His neighbor heard the shots. He would have found him." Emily said. _Maybe. _If he'd decided to knock Hotch's door down just to check. "I think he would have found him."

"Emily, love. Did Hotch say who?" Dave rubbed her shoulder, comfortingly.

"Foyet." Emily said. "It was Foyet. I passed him in the stairwell, but I didn't recognize him. I'm sorry. But Hotch said it was Foyet."

"He was that close to you?" Derek nearly growled the words, and Emily's head rose sharply. Once she realized Derek wasn't angry with her—just protective—she nodded. "Dark sweatshirt, hooded. Dark pants. Wasn't hurrying, but wasn't dawdling, either. I thought he looked familiar, but I'd only seen photos of Foyet from years ago. I'm sorry."

"Don't blame yourself." Emily didn't miss the chastising look Dave shot at Derek. Dave, her new protector. Had been ever since she'd lost Matthew. Emily found that incongruous. She didn't _need _a protector. She was used to doing the protecting. "Emily, just thank God that you were there to help Hotch when he needed it."

She nodded. "I'll need to talk to the local LEOs. Are we…keeping jurisdiction on this one? Or will IA take it?"

Dave leaned his shoulder against hers. "I don't know at this point. We could probably strong arm our way into this one. Foyet is not someone the locals are adequately equipped to handle. I know Hotch was working the case on the side, as well, even though it had went cold."

"I thought he'd come after Derek, if anybody." Emily said, shooting the man in question an apologetic look. "Since he had his address and ID. Why Hotch?"

"The same reason why he didn't shoot Morgan when he had the chance. Having his whereabouts lessened the challenge. Hotch was more of a prey for him. Plus, by refusing to play his game, Hotch both angered and intrigued Foyet." Dave said. "He saw Hotch as more of a worthy adversary than Derek. No offense, Morgan."

"None taken. My question is how do we find this guy?" Morgan paced, resembling a caged jungle cat. Dangerous, feral, sleek. It made Emily almost dizzy to watch. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Morgan dropped to his knees in front of her. "Em, tell us _exactly _what happened."

She kept her eyes closed. "I realized we'd switched cells, and I knew he'd probably need his phone. I walk by his apartment complex every time I walk to and from work, so it wasn't a biggie. I'd just drop it off then head home. I wasn't quite ready to be alone, so I figured the walk would do me good and I'd just pick up my car from the lot tomorrow afternoon. I took the stairs, and passed Foyet. Something about him made me leery, I'll admit it. But I couldn't place him, I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing." JJ ordered. "I wouldn't have recognized him, either."

Emily opened her eyes and looked at JJ, seeing the woman was sincere. "I reached Hotch's floor. Only about half the apartments are rented. Hotch is near the stairwell. There was a man outside Hotch's door. He told me he'd heard gunshots. I heard Hotch cry out. We went in and found him. He told me it was Foyet. I called Derek. He wanted me to call you and warn you, make sure you were alright."

She looked at Derek, reaffirming to herself that he was right there in front of her.

"So where do we go from here?" Reid asked, just as the local LEOs surrounded them, all their eyes focused on Emily. She shrank back, almost cuddling back into Dave, and Derek, who'd immediately moved to her other side.

Hotch's neighbor moved to the front of the small group. "I'm Detective Mick Lowell, Agent Hotchner's neighbor. You all are?"

He still wore the shirt stained with Hotch's blood. Emily knew no one on the team had missed it, any more than they'd missed the blood staining _her _shirt. Hotch's blood. Oh, God. "His team."

Lowell looked at her, compassion in his eyes. "And you are? Emily, I think I heard?"

She nodded. "This is David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Dr. Spencer Reid, and Penelope Garcia. Thank you, for your help earlier."

"No problem. I'm just glad we got there when we did. Can we speak with you for a moment, in private?"

She hesitated, looked at Dave. With Hotch down, he was team leader; it was up to him how they dealt with things from that point on. "I'll stay with her."

His tone left no argument, and the locals must have read him correctly for they didn't protest. Emily stood along with Dave, conscious of his supporting hand on her back. Did he think she was going to fall apart? She wasn't. Emily Prentiss only fell apart in private. Never in public. Hadn't her mother taught her that little trick at an early age?

"Detective Lowell, I don't think there's anything I can tell you that you don't already know. I passed the man in the stairwell. He's an UNSUB from a previous case of ours who'd slipped through the net. He'd threatened Hotch, but we didn't see it as an imminent one. I guess we should have." Emily sighed, crossed her arms over her chest. Hotch's blood was under her fingernails. She needed a shower, a change of clothes. Something, anything, to get his blood off. She began rubbing furiously at the nails on her left hand.

Neither Lowell nor Dave missed her sudden focus. Dave took her hand in his. "Emily, kiddo. Focus. We'll get him, I promise. Just a matter of time."

"Will we?" She asked, for a moment ignoring the police detective to focus on her team mate. "How do we know he's not out there, watching? Just waiting? How do we know he won't try again, either with Hotch or someone else on the team? How do we know?"


End file.
